


The Prodigal Foxhunt

by river_wrath



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Whipped, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Hannigram and Pride and Prejudice, Historical Hannigram, Horse Girl Will Graham, M/M, My Two Interest, They're just gay victorian cannibal killers, Will Graham Doesn't Care, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham Needs a Hug, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28062963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/river_wrath/pseuds/river_wrath
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is a mysterious, generously wealthy gentleman in the Victorian countryside. He is known to socialize little, apart from grand and expensive dinner parties for an exclusive list of guests. His reputation of power and eccentricity precedes him almost everywhere.It was made clear to Will Graham when he was offered the position in Hannibal's stables. Will was desperate for money, for a room, for a meaning to his life. Eccentricity was a small price to pay for a sense of stability, or so he thought. The announcement of one foxhunt would derail that stability forever.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 154





	1. A Mysterious Benefactor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Graham acquires a new job, and with it, a new family.

Will Graham had always been in awe of houses like these. As he came down the elusive Hannibal Lecter's gravel drive, the house appeared through the trees like a colossus. Windows, too many to count, peered at him like dozens of eyes scrutinizing his every step. The stone facade was cold and unwelcome, with cultivated gardens and a decorated pond spilling behind it like a cloak. The closer he got to the house, the more nervous he became. Now he could see horses coming in and out of the stables, staff exercising them around a well-trodden dirt track. Riders came in and out of the forest on horseback, looking as tired as their mounts. It seemed like a vigorous program - one that Will was now certain he did not qualify for. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Will adjusted his grip on his pasteboard luggage and picked up his pace, stepping into the doorway of the stables with feigned confidence. Several young men looked at him sideways, snickering under their breath.

He felt suddenly, frighteningly out of place. Everyone looked so comfortable here, a fleet of grooms and stablehands who knew these animals better than they knew each other. They traveled in packs, like hunting animals. Will cleared his throat, adopting a mask of casual confidence, and stopped a young man leading a horse into the barn. "I'm sorry," said Will, "but I'm here as the new Master of Horse. I was hired just a few days ago." He reached out to stroke the nose of the bay mare, who snorted quietly against his palm.

"Oh?" asked the stablehand, raising an eyebrow. It was not a critical question, more a declaration of surprise. His protective grip on the reins of the mare softened. Clearly, they had all thought Will to be some horribly misguided guest, walking into the stable instead of the front door. Perhaps they'd even fancied him a lost serviceman, desperate for directions to the servant's entrance of the house. "What's your name?" The boy was tall, thin as a stalk. His face was plastered in freckles, capped in a mop of golden curls. Entirely, completely non-threatening.

"Will," he replied. "Will Graham." Immediately he felt his body relax. Will set down his suitcase, holding out his hand.

"I'm Charles. Welcome to the stables, Will." The young stablehand beamed and pat his mare on the cheek. "This is Old Bess, a real kind old mare. Let me put her away, and I'll help you get settled. Don't worry about everyone else; the Big Man is home today and likes to look out the windows. If he doesn't see horses at work, someone will lose their head." Charles grimaced, almost a flinch.

Will wondered what caused a reaction that strong. Was it that Hannibal Lecter was a strict, domineering employer? Was it something else? He chalked his hyper analysis up to nerves and nodded, following Charles deeper into the barn. There must have been fifty stalls inside, making up three aisles. All were perfectly clean, and almost all were occupied. Will had never met the man, but he knew that Hannibal must have adored these animals from this alone. Such impeccable care was rare these days, especially in private homes. Now, farther away from the drive, the grooms began to smile at him more. The tension in his shoulders slowly relaxed, and he found that he was smiling back.

"This is Will," declared Charles proudly, over and over to every new person. Will's hand was wrapped in many firm and enthusiastic embraces. _These were just people;_ he reminded himself. _Run of the mill, ordinary people._ The thought calmed him. He had no one to impress. As Charles untacked Old Bess, Will asked about the other horses. "Well," Charles said darkly, a wash of sadness clouding his face, "the Doctor's prized hunting horse died not a week ago. She tripped in a badger hole and snapped her leg. We had to go out and shoot her." His eyes strayed down the aisle to an empty stall, a rug and bridle still hung up as if nothing was wrong. "He likes the hunt, our Dr. Lecter, both privately and with a party." Charles patted Old Bess one last time before he slid the door closed, beckoning Will to follow him. 

Will cast one backward glance at the empty stall and walked alongside Charles. "He's a doctor? A physician?" Curiosity had consumed him. He had never met the man who had hired him. Will had sent in a letter outlining his interest and his applicable skills, and he'd received one in return. Based on Charles' reaction, Will guessed that it was a frequent occurrence. He wondered how often people came and went from this household. Will had never been hired by someone who hadn't desired to take a look at him first, and certainly not someone of this class with such a profound level of anonymity. 

A chuckle from Charles broke him from this spell. "A doctor of something, but not medicine. No one knows, really. It's all part of his mysterious charm. I've heard the man gets fifty proposals every day in the mail. He's still not married. I guess he rejects them all." Charles shrugged, swinging open a door that Will had almost missed. It opened onto a small staircase leading down into the ground. The two men descended the slippery stone steps, emptying onto a hallway lit by gas lamps and candles. There were four doors, a small dining area, a small kitchen, and a closed commode. Despite the less than desirable conditions, Will felt an immediate sense of comfort. All four doors were open, revealing various levels of disarray inside. Every room contained four beds. Each had a trunk beneath, a small dresser, washbasin, and a mirror. The walls were decorated with photographs, letters, postcards, and drawings.

"Sorry, it's not much," Charles muttered, embarrassed.

"This feels more like a house than that thing at the end of the drive," Will reassured him, pushing his way into the room Charles had shown him. He took the empty cot, laying his pasteboard suitcase on the thin mattress. With Charles leaning against the doorway, Will unpacked his few belongings. A couple of changes of clothes, an old letter well worn and soft with age. Will shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the room alongside three others. It felt good to be here. It didn't feel like home yet, but Will was sure that would change. He liked the people he met so far, and he was pleased to live among other people who cared about animals as much as he did. 

Most of the horses had been exercised by the time he got there, so Will tasked himself with acquainting himself with all of them. He quickly put to mind which were kind, full of fire, and which horses to pair with each other for carriages. He loved the way they smelled and the sounds they made in contentment. All around him were the gentle sounds of stomping feet, snorting, and hay being chewed. Will found he was particularly fond of a grey mare, sprinkled with dapples like a riverbed. Her dark eyes were calm and forgiving. It was as if they looked right through him. Leaning back away from her stall, Will craned his neck to read her nameplate. "Mischa," he said with fondness, stroking her neck. Her sleek coat under his hands send waves of gooseflesh over his body before all tension in his muscles disappeared. The nerves that had coiled him up like a mechanical spring had finally released, letting his whole mind go slack.

He had been holding onto many things he shouldn't have. Nightmares, memories. Will was on the run from himself, from bricks that felt too familiar, from the sounds of laughter in a pub, and the burning of eyes on the back of his neck. It was Charles that sprung him out of a cyclone of remembering. The stablehand clapped a triumphant hand on Will's shoulder, almost knocking the wind out of him.

"Andrew's gone to town; he's buying gin for the whole crew tonight to celebrate you. Help us close the shop for the night, and you can meet Alana, our wonderful mistress of food." Charles embodied an air of carelessness that Will greatly admired. There was something about the lanky young man who laughed so often and smiled so much it had wrinkled his young face that Will found himself infatuated with. Part of him wondered what it felt like to have so few worries. The greater remainder of him was deeply jealous. Maybe, with enough time, Will could learn to emulate Charles' freedom.

"Let's go then," Will replied, his face illuminated with a sly, cheeky grin. He didn't feel happy enough for it to be convincing, but he couldn't help himself. The other people in the stables were buzzing with excitement. It became obvious quite quickly that they didn't often have occasions for such parties. The energy in the barn was infectious, and Will was kindling in the fire. He caught onto the routine quickly, throwing hay and pouring grain feed to every one of Hannibal's treasured horses. Perhaps it was the feeling of family, which he had been desperately chasing for most of his life, but Will found himself smiling more than usual. When they had finished feeding the horses and polishing the tack, the entire stable staff descended their staircase and crowded into the dining room. Cups were passed, and gin was poured.

 _"To Will Graham!"_ they cheered, and Will smiled back at them, knocking back his liquor. He almost didn't hear footsteps coming down the stairs over the revelry, but when the young, dark-haired woman appeared at the bottom of them, the rest of the young men cheered again. They poured another round and lifted their glasses once more, this time toasting _Alana._ She passed confidently through the dining room with a basket of meat and vegetables, stopping in the kitchen.

Under the cheering and chattering, Charles leaned over to Will and explained, "that's Alana. She comes from the house and feeds us. Hannibal won't let anyone use _his_ kitchen, so we have our own. The house folks have one too." He paused, looking up at Alana. Will followed Charles' eyes with his own, only to find out someone was already looking at him. Will dropped his gaze before Alana's but lifted it again just in time to see her turn away with pink cheeks. "Alana!" Charles yelled, which only succeeded in getting everyone yelling. "Come meet our new Master of Horse!"

She was impressively unphased by the yelling and banter. Will couldn't imagine that sixteen men were an easy group to feed, especially when they worked all day laboriously. Alana approached him, wiping her hands on her apron before sticking one out to shake. It was unladylike, confident, and assertive. Will liked that. He took it and shook it firmly. "Will," he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

Alana nodded. "I know." 

That night, belly full of food and warm with liquor, Will climbed into his new bed in his new pajamas. He found that sleep came easily, but it was never peaceful.

Many hours later, Will launched awake, his chest heaving as he broke himself out of his nightmare. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his blankets had been tangled around his feet. He paused, deliberately quieting his breathing, but no one else in the room was stirring. Dragging a hand down his face, Will extricated himself from his bed and crept to the door, cautiously opening it to slip through and gently pulling it closed behind him. Standing in the dining area, he could hear the gentle snoring of several sleeping men and the quiet rustling of someone turning in their sleep. He poured himself a cup of gin, knocking it back in one go. It sent a shiver down his spine but no longer made him wince. Will abandoned his cup in the basin and stepped on silent, bare feet along the stone floor. The only light in the place were several low burning candles. Pausing only long enough to light a couple more, Will headed for the stairs and began to climb.

As Will opened the door to the stable proper, he thought he heard the jingling of tack and a stall door lock sliding closed. Everyone had been asleep downstairs, and as Will stepped onto the cold brick floor, he was sure he could hear shoes clicking against the stone. He held his breath for one moment longer, listening to the footsteps retreat on the gravel. _Why didn't I check my watch?_ He thought with frustration. It was normally a habit to log what time he had woken up from a nightmare. Now there was no way he would be able to tell who had been in with the horses in the dark. Had it been their mysterious employer? Did he often take it upon himself to saddle and replace horses in the dead of night? What had the good Doctor been doing, riding this late?

Will worked his way down all the stalls, checking each of the horses with a lantern for sweat marks. Nothing seemed out of place, and no one seemed freshly worked... until he checked on Mischa. She was sweating only lightly, exercised with an expert hand, and cooled with a soothing one. Will patted her and closed her door, turning around to look at the empty stall. The bridle which had been hanging there was missing. Will was sure he had checked it just before they closed the doors for the night. Who had taken it? Puzzled, his head buzzing with thoughts, Will put out his lantern and made his way silently back to his bed, tucking himself back in to return to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this was enjoyable! My TikTok followers encouraged me to write this; if you're one of them, hi! I have the whole story mapped out. Hannibal should make a real appearance in the next two chapters.


	2. The Sistine Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new resident arrives at the stables, and Will is given special instructions to take care of him. He feels as though he is being watched by the foreboding house of Hannibal Lecter. The mysterious figure shows his face, igniting curiosity and bashfulness (among other things) in Will.

All anxiety Will felt when he arrived had dissipated quickly. The rest of the staff were kind, boisterous, and welcoming. Gone was the curious feeling of displacement that had followed Will everywhere since childhood. The summer sun was warm on his back, tickling his skin through his shirtsleeves as he worked a horse in the field. They felt connected, a single being threaded together by muscle and reassuring breath. Will could feel the straining of a thick neck through his hands, working at a bit as the horse focused on his work. He had completed the track several times when he allowed his horse to walk - a simple excuse to allow him to catch his breath as well. He patted the animal on the shoulder and loosened his reins, Will's own posture relaxing slightly. His eyes traveled up to the house, cold and hollow as always. He'd been here for nearly two weeks, and he had never met the man he worked for. At the sight of a curtain sliding closed, he noticed a shadowy figure looking down at him. Will balked. How long had that person been watching him? 

A chill started to form between his shoulders, but all worry was cast aside at a commotion clattering down the drive. A man on horseback was holding onto a rope, trotting quickly down the gravel path. At the end of the rope, snorting and bucking, was a beautiful colt. He was black as midnight, with a delicate and well-bred head. He was long in the legs, slender and gracefully built. Will jumped down off his mount and passed it off to another stable hand, jogging across the green to meet this new horse. Everyone was chatting; whispers spread through the stables like waves onto the shore. Charles, breathless, pushed his way through the gawking crowd and handed a piece of paper to Will.

"It's from the house," Charles panted, his eyebrows raised. His eyes darted from the paper to Will's face.

Will moved to the edge of the gravel drive, unfolding the piece of paper as he watched the rider come around the final bend. The note was written in impeccable penmanship, crafted smoothly and with confidence. There was an air of uncouth intimacy in words scrawled across the card. It was as though an old friend had written it. 

> _Will -_
> 
> _I have complete faith in your abilities. As you may know, my previous hunting horse was a victim of a tragic accident. I would like to plan a large foxhunt for September 4th and have purchased this colt to ride. He is yours to train. I suspect you will perform above my expectations. His name is Rome._
> 
> _-H._

Will didn't have time to process the note in full, instead choosing to fold it back up, slipping it into the pocket of his trousers. He stood a little straighter as if the man of the house was standing in front of him. He wasn't sure if Hannibal was watching from his windows. It was Will that took Rome's lead from the breeder that delivered him.

"Would you like to stay and rest for a moment? Both of you," Will asked, looking at rider and horse alike.

"No, thank you, sir," the man said, glancing nervously towards the house. "I'm afraid I won't stay here longer than I must." The breeder turned and galloped back down the gravel drive without another word, disappearing down the wooded lane beyond the lawn.

Rome was the opposite of his previous owner. He stood in impressive regality, his head lifted towards the sky, flashing the crest of his neck. He was dazzling in the sun. After a reassuring pat from Will, Rome seemed to calm slightly. He dropped his head and steadied himself, no longer prancing around at the end of his lead. "It's the Doctor's new hunting horse," Will breathed, looking at Rome in awe. "His name is Rome." It felt strange to repeat the words sent to him by his ghostly employer. Will had been known to be a good liar before, but this felt different. It didn't feel polite to adopt someone's speech, which was so elegant as to choose this horse from a breeding pen. Another shiver crept down Will's arms as he remembered that _he_ was in charge. Hannibal Lecter had purchased this animal as a means to an end, but Will would help him get there.

Everyone was watching them. Shaking himself from his stupor, Will looked up at the house for one last attempt at seeing the mysterious Dr. Lecter. When he was met with nothing but the building's foreboding exterior, Will sighed and led Rome into the stables. He stamped and snorted at every animal they passed. Some of them squealed, others struck out at walls. Rome was a proud, fiery creature. Will couldn’t help but believe that perhaps Lecter purchased him for those qualities, whether they mirrored his own personality or because he enjoyed the challenge.

The empty stall at the end of the aisle was cleaned, freshly. He hadn’t remembered anyone cleaning it. _Had someone come back into the barn in the middle of the night?_ The mysteries seemed to stack up on this estate, a never-ending list of strange happenings that scared most people away. Will was no longer surprised when people acted as though mentioning Hannibal Lecter was a punishable act. People in the barn preferred to refer to the Doctor as little as they could, most often choosing instead to talk about “the house.” This vague formality was unfamiliar to Will and something he refused to adopt without reason.

Will was putting Rome away in his new home when Charles walked up to him, whistling lowly as he admired the animal. Curiosity was eating away at Will. He couldn't resist. “You’ve seen him, haven’t you? What’s he like?” Refusing to make eye contact, knowing that he had breached some silent agreement, Will fiddled with Rome’s leather halter and the bars on his stall. Beside him, he heard Charles suck in a sharp breath. In his periphery, Will watched Charles’ hand reach out to stroke Rome’s dark neck.

“I’ve seen him. Before you came here, I had to run the foxhunt his old mare lost her life on. Before you, the Master of Horse tended to drink, but he’d never missed an event like this. I mean, we’ve all seen _him_. He’s not even that strict.” Charles was speaking barely above a whisper. “There’s something… _unnatural_ about him. It’s like his spine is too straight, his words too rehearsed. I’m not surprised everyone is so impressed by him. Dr. Lecter makes his final opinion on you from his first impression. One look, and he knows all about you, especially whether or not he likes you.”

Shaking his head, Charles stepped away from Rome’s stall. His blonde curls bounced as he shrugged. “After that hunt, we never saw the Master of Horse again. He wasn’t there when the party came back, and all his things were gone. That’s something you’ll have to get used to. If the house doesn’t like you, you’ll just…disappear.” Charles left Will then, stalking glumly down the aisles to choose another horse to work.

Will had hoped to get answers from Charles, but all he received were more questions. _One look and he knows all about you._ Those were the words Charles had used. If the Doctor had never met Will before hiring him, how did he know? Did he go forth and hire blindly, simply disappearing the people he didn’t like? What did he think of Will? _I have complete faith in your abilities._ The letter felt like it was burning in Will’s pocket. _I suspect you will perform above my expectations._ How did Hannibal Lecter even _have_ expectations of Will? It should have instilled a sense of fear, horror even, in him. Instead, it seemed a sensation of warmth crept deep into Will’s bones, sinking into his tissue. It felt almost like he, not Rome, was the show animal.

Rome proved to be as much of a firecracker as Will anticipated. He woke the next morning with the rest of the stable staff, just before the sun. They ate a sleepy, bleary-eyed breakfast served by a warm and cheerful Alana. “I’ve heard you’re starting that black horse today,” she said brightly, seated next to Will at the breakfast table. Her eyes darted to Charles when she said it. She held her cutlery so delicately and properly. It made Will conscious of the way he shoveled food into his mouth. It was just fuel to him, and he didn’t have any particular gourmet experience, but it felt rude to eat like a monster in front of the cook.

“I am,” he said, swallowing hard on a bite of egg and toast. His voice sounded strained as he held in a cough, managing to choke it out. “I’ve only got a couple of months to finish him. I have to start soon.” Will ducked his head and continued eating, slower this time. He wasn’t used to people talking to him in the morning. The other men he lived with ate in silence to get consume everything as quickly as possible, for a good reason. Their work started early and was unforgiving. “You’re welcome to watch if you’d like. I assume you have other responsibilities, though.”

Alana smiled at Will, who looked away from her sheepishly. “I would,” Alana said, setting down her knife and fork. “Unfortunately, today is when I go into town to buy groceries.” She looked genuinely apologetic.

“Will, uh, will you need a horse?” Will asked, focusing intently on the content of his breakfast. Talking to people always made him nervous. He understood them too deeply to allow himself to look at them for longer than a hesitant jerking glance. He had looked at Alana too long, in fact, and he felt now that she was a book he had read many times.

He could feel her eyes on him. It made his skin crawl. “No, I like to walk. If the Doctor gives me a long enough list, I’ll take the delivery cart back.” She spoke so quietly and succinctly. Will presumed this was because Alana enjoyed the finer things. He could imagine her room in the little cottage where the servant girls lived. It smelled like books and cinnamon. She was the kind of person who would read any book she could get her hands on, devouring the words. For people like Alana, the quest for knowledge was one without an end.

“Good luck on your walk, then,” Will replied quietly, bowing his head as he stood up from the table and carried his dishes to the basin in the kitchen. Wiping his hands on a napkin, Will left the stable quarters and went to collect Rome for their first day of work.

For all his bravado, Rome was surprisingly sound-minded and polite. As Will saddled him, he stood respectfully in the stables and complied with some enthusiasm as Will lead him out to the field. He began by lunging Rome first, allowing him to work out any excitement before Will attempted to ride him. It felt more than ever, on the foggy stretch of green, that the house was watching him. When Rome stopped running on his end of the line, Will approached him and rubbed his nose. The sun had crept high enough that morning to burn away the fog and dew that dampened the cuffs of his trousers. The horse worked his bit with his tongue, observing Will with his dark, ponderous eyes. At that moment, they made a pact with each other: _we have to trust one another completely._ Rome lowered his head at the same time Will let out a shaky, held breath. He placed his leg in the stirrup and swung himself up onto Rome’s back, his forearms straining as he pulled himself up into the saddle.

Rome snorted, taking a couple of steps forward as he adjusted to the unfamiliar weight on his back. So far, so good. Will breathed in and out deeply to calm both of them. He rubbed the black horse’s neck and collected the reins. With a small, encouraging click of his tongue, Will urged Rome forward. Despite his snorting, Rome seemed to understand the command. The pair took off walking around the track, Will correcting and adjusting Rome as they went. He hoped that by adjusting him as they worked, Rome would learn these commands faster. So far, it seemed to be working.

Birds chirped gayly in the trees above them as Will and Rome completed their 50th loop around the track. Will was so focused on helping the animal with his job that he nearly didn’t notice the man walking across the green towards them. He was dressed sharply, unlike anyone Will was used to seeing around the stables. He walked casually but with an air of natural confidence that made it seem he was gliding across the grass. Will pulled Rome to a stop, steering him into the green to meet the stranger.

“You are a good looking pair,” said the man. His accent wasn’t local, but Will wasn’t well-traveled enough to place it. Now that he was closer, Will could inspect him fully. Being on horseback held some advantages. The man's suit was perfectly tailored. The gloves that covered his hands fit as though they were a second skin. He wore no hat, exposing his full face to the sun in a casual and personal way, as though they were friends. He had refined features, with narrow eyes, high, slanted cheekbones, and a slender mouth. It was wearing a small smile, crooked on one side like a smirk. He was as striking as Will imagined, but somehow, more handsome. The compliment was not lost on Will, either. He turned his eyes down to Rome and watched his feet as the man approached.

“Had I known I was being watched,” Will responded cordially, “I would have put on a better show.” He let the reins go slack and rubbed a circle on Rome’s neck, reassuring him. It was as much for the horse as it was for himself.

The man came closer still until he stood alongside Rome’s head. He spent a moment petting him before he shifted his gaze to watch Will. It was like a magical force was enacted on him. Will found himself lifting his blue eyes to meet those of the stranger. “I’m sorry,” said the unfamiliar man. “I realize we have never been properly introduced. I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, but please, call me Hannibal.” Will felt as helpless as the sea, changing at the whim of the moon.

“Dr. Lecter,” Will replied, bowing his head politely. He refused to get off the horse. It was a sanctuary that kept him separated from the strange and enchanting Hannibal Lecter.

“Hannibal, please, I insist,” he pressed, raising his eyebrows at Will.

Despite the callous informality, Will decided there was nothing else he could ever call him. “Hannibal,” he said, trying the word on his tongue. It fit there almost too comfortably, rolling off as though he had been speaking it his entire life. He noticed that Hannibal’s eyes flashed when Will said it, too. Something in the air felt _strange_ , but it didn’t feel wrong, as it should have. No, it felt perfectly comfortable. _Hannibal._ Will became painfully aware of a familiar tickle at the base of his spine, flipping his stomach. “You have excellent taste in horses.”

Hannibal dressed in a warm smile. For all Will could see, it was genuine. “And horsemen, it seems,” he replied. Will understood what Charles meant when he said that Hannibal seemed to practice everything he said, even if there was no time for him to do so. It was strange, yes, but it didn’t feel unnatural to Will. That familiar warmth in his stomach was sending jolts of lightning to his heart. He had spent so long swallowing feelings like this, taming them in himself. To lose all that practice in an instant, as though Hannibal had struck a match in a coal mine, was unsettling.

Will wanted to respond, but he found he was mesmerized. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound impressively stupid, and the idea of embarrassing himself in front of Hannibal was mortifying. Luckily, he didn’t have to scramble to find the words. Hannibal filled the silence for him, as any gentleman would.

“I’ve been watching you ride all week,” Hannibal confessed, stroking Rome’s neck. “I admit that it was quite rude to spy on you in that manner, but I’ve seen good things. You make a wonderful sight atop a horse so noble. The Sistine Chapel to his Rome.” Will wished the flattery would stop. Were Hannibal not so socially proper, Will would have believed him to be flirting. _Hannibal._

“I’d like to invite you to my foxhunt,” Hannibal said, placing his hand on Will’s boot. “It is the highlight of the season before we welcome in the dreariness of autumn. I only invite my favorite people.” He was looking up at Will, but at that moment, Will felt impossibly small.

His stomach turned. _My favorite people,_ that was what Hannibal said. He was including Will on that list. _Call me Hannibal._ Will knew that Hannibal was from a society totally different from his. Athletics were enjoyable activities for special occasions to high society, and not a part of daily life. Food was so plentiful they participated in hunting as though it was a game. It was simply a difference that would always exist. Will should have felt delighted to be invited to participate. It was a chance for him to escape the hardships of his position in society. It felt as though there was a stone in his throat, desperately trying to stop him from speaking. Will should have accepted it, perhaps nodded in acceptance. Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke.

“I don’t like fox hunts,” Will admitted. “There’s nothing sport-like about chasing down a frightened animal with horses and arrows and dogs until you’ve exhausted it so much it can’t run anymore.” He grasped a handful of Rome’s mane, twisting it between his fingers. "That doesn't feel anything like hunting, or anything like a game. There's no point in doing something if you know with certainty that you're going to succeed."

Hannibal frowned - a nearly imperceptible change in his face. His hand slid off of Will’s boot, and he turned his attention instead to Rome. If Will weren't so good at reading people, he wouldn’t have noticed a change at all, but something in Hannibal’s body language seemed deflated. Not disappointed, but not pleased. It was as if Will had slighted him somehow; a bubble popped in Hannibal’s mind. His demeanor had become suddenly cold, like clouds passing in front of the sun.

After an extended pause, Hannibal spoke. He was filling the silence again. “A respectful opinion. I shouldn’t be surprised, coming from one who loves animals as much as yourself.” He looked at Will the same way as before, this time with more movement behind his eyes. It was like watching the gears inside a clock turn and tick. What was he thinking about? Had Will just guaranteed his own disappearance?

“Please have Rome finished for me, then, by September 1st.”

As quickly as he appeared, Hannibal Lecter turned and moved away across the grass pasture. He ignored all the stablehands that gawked at him, some holding horses and some standing in the stables. Hannibal rounded the drive back to the house's front entrance and disappeared from Will’s sight. He found himself letting out a breath. How long had he been holding it, paused in a suspension of time? _The Sistine Chapel_. Will had seen a copy of it once, on a postcard belonging to someone from a time in his life he no longer remembered. He knew that it was a masterpiece. _You are a good looking pair._

Charles had called Hannibal unnatural. To many, Will could understand why. To Will, however, he seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. As timeless and worldly as the sea and the sky. _Hannibal._

_Hannibal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, we did it. Here comes the big man himself.  
> I hope you guys are still enjoying this. I'm going to try to write a couple of chapters in advance so I can post them consistently.  
> Thank you for the kudos!


	3. Saint-Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** There are graphic descriptions of a murder scene in this chapter **

Will was shaken awake by an unfamiliar hand. As he rose from his sleep, he covered his eyes with his forearm and went to speak, his voice groggy and confused. “What?” Will asked, perhaps more aggressively than he would have liked. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized his assailant was none other than the butler, who was shushing him angrily.

“Master Lecter has asked that you prepare him a horse,” the butler hissed, grabbing Will by the wrist and dragging him out of bed. It was all Will could do to struggle into a shirt and pull on his shoes.

“Why didn’t you ask someone else?” Will snapped, stumbling out into the dark dining hall. Had the butler not been holding a lantern, the subterranean darkness would have swallowed them. He rubbed his wrist, where the butler had twisted his skin. Will didn’t like bossy people. He found that under these circumstances, he didn’t enjoy _any_ people.

“Master Lecter has asked for you, specifically,” the butler snapped, leading Will up the stairs and into the stables. “Trust me, had it been anyone, I would have simply rung the bell.” The man seemed extremely displeased with being awake at this hour. _That makes two of us,_ Will thought to himself. He rubbed his eyes with his fist and turned to the man.

“Leave me the lantern. I’ll have the horse ready.”

“At the front of the house, you know--”

“I know.” Will took the lantern from the butler, glowering as the man dashed off towards the house. There was no space to be polite and friendly in the dead of night. Especially not among people of his class. Not for the people that worked in the house. He was generally a closed-off, quietly angry, and mostly disinterested individual. His resting facial expression was one that, while not cruel, did not welcome himself into casual conversation.

Will could be polite when needed, but this was not a situation that necessitated gentleness. Still, the idea of Hannibal asking for him personally thrilled him. Will wasn’t ready to confront the reason behind those feelings. Instead, he carried the lantern through the barn. If he had to pick a horse for Hannibal, he would choose his favorite.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Mischa,” Will murmured, stepping into her stall to pull a halter over her soft, large head. “Duty calls for both of us, and its name is Hannibal Lecter.” He stroked her broad forehead, strapping her to a lead and bringing her into the aisle to tie. It felt inhumane to leave her there in the dark, so Will set the lamp down alongside her while he fumbled through the darkness to find Hannibal’s saddle.

He could find it by feel: the rich velvet of his saddle pad and the plush, supple leather of his saddle. He could smell it, too -- richer and cleaner than all the others. Will saddled Mischa in the gloom of the lantern light before taking her by the reins and lifting the lantern in his other hand. Will couldn’t imagine why Hannibal needed a horse. _Damn,_ Will thought. He should have checked his watch.

It stirred the memory of his first night when he’d woken from a nightmare. Someone had been walking around in the barn, and they’d used Mischa that night too. This time he had been invited to participate. It didn’t feel like laziness on Hannibal’s part, insisting on using his servants to do everything for him. No, this felt like he was letting Will in on a secret.

“Come on, Mischa, it’s only an owl,” Will murmured, reassuring the frightened animal, spooking at the overhead sound of hooting. In the distance, deep in the forest, Will thought he heard the sound of animals howling. Holding Mischa steady in front of the house, they waited. Will noticed a floating light travel across the house, downwards from the third-floor. The front door was pulled open, and Hannibal emerged, silent as the night.

“Will,” said Hannibal, whose expression softened. Will thought, for a moment, that he noticed Hannibal smiling approvingly at him. The way he said his name made Will feel warm. Despite the chill in the air, Will pushed up his shirtsleeves. The confident, pleased tone of Hannibal’s voice was enough to make Will stand up straighter. “I’m sorry for waking you,” Hannibal continued.

Will shrugged it off. “It’s why you hired me,” he replied. In the dark, Hannibal nodded again, smiling with all teeth. He was dressed smartly, if not oddly, in an all-black ensemble. His shirtsleeves were made of fine dark silk, as was his tie. Crafted from a wool of obsidian hue were his waistcoat and trousers. Hannibal wore no jacket or coat. It was once again nearly imperceptibly too casual and personal. Will wondered what he had done to gain the experience of seeing Hannibal Lecter like this when he made a habit of rarely being seen at all.

“You’ve picked Mischa,” Hannibal observed, allowing Will to hold the mare steady as he mounted her.

“I trust her the most,” Will answered. He noticed that he was staring at Hannibal, a fact that made him feel suddenly uneasy. He never made lasting eye-contact with anyone, but he found that in Hannibal’s company, he couldn’t look away. Something about the nature of his inexpressive face was alluring. All Will wanted was to be able to deconstruct the mask.

Hannibal nodded again, and he smiled at Will once more. Before Will could ask if he should wait up for Hannibal’s return, the strange man spurred the mare forward towards the forest and galloped off. Standing alone in the driveway, Will shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. Grabbing the lantern, he turned back to the stables, stifling a yawn. 

_Maybe he’d need a light,_ Will thought, pausing at the head of the stairs to turn around and hang the lantern in the center of the aisle, just outside Mischa’s stall. Nodding to himself for his thoughtfulness, Will turned and carried himself back to bed, barely able to kick his shoes off before sleep called him back to her.

“C’mon, Will, get up!”

Charles was standing above him, half-dressed. His hair was dirty looking, and he was standing with a wool blanket over his shoulder. As Will opened his eyes, another wool blanket was thrown at him unceremoniously. “What time is it?” Will croaked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. That was the problem with no windows.

“8:00 am on the dot,” Charles announced. “We’re off to the river. It’s a warm morning, and we could all use a swim.”

Will jumped to his feet. He hadn’t expected to sleep in so late. How was it already the morning? Shouldn’t Hannibal have summoned him in the dark, desperate for someone to take care of Mischa? Why had none of his friends awoken him earlier? Despite a mostly restful night of sleep, with no memorable dreams, Will’s head was spinning. “I could use a swim,” he admitted, swiping a tired hand down his face. 

Charles beamed and marched with a crew of four or five, including Will, out of the stables and down the path through the forest. They chatted and laughed, joking with one another. As they rounded a corner and the glittering water came into view, all five men stopped suddenly.

Some of them stared open-mouthed like gaping fish. Others turned away from the scene, retching and vomiting into the bushes alongside the path. Will felt his heart rate pick up. It wasn’t out of anxiety or fear. He couldn’t place the feeling, but something compelled him to step forward, closer to the woman.

Suspended from the branches of trees that stretched out over the water was a young woman. She looked plain, her body hard and thin from labor. _Not a member of high society,_ thought Will. Her soft brown hair had turned red at the ends, like crimson ribbons plastered to her breasts. Her body hung, Christ-like, over the water. In the soft, trickling river, Will was able to see the expression on her face: peaceful.

She had been flayed along the ribs, thick ribbons of flesh removed as if she had grown gills. Her ribs had been pulled back, out of her body, like armor. They looked like the gruesome tusks of a boar. Will’s stomach turned, but something about her held his gaze. “Someone run back to the house, fetch the police,” Will murmured. He pulled himself away from the woman and turned to the other men. No one moved, all staring in sick disbelief at what they had found.

A muscle twitched below Will’s eye. “ _Go!”_ he yelled, teeth flashing. Panicking, some of the younger boys dashed off back through the forest.

“My God,” Charles finally managed to choke out. “Who did this to her?”

Will turned back to the crime scene, staring emptily at the young woman. “A monster,” he muttered, throwing himself down in the soft loam, back pressed against a tree. Dropping his head into his hands, Will let out a shaky groan. “There’s something weird about this place, Charles.” _Weird_ would have been an understatement. A puzzle had begun to form in Will’s mind. Vague, shapeless pieces materializing in a riddle he was too confused to solve.

The two men fell into silence, one leaning up against a tree and the other sitting beneath one. The girl’s body swayed gently in the breeze, the sun reflecting off of her bright, pale skin. She looked peaceful, like a saint. Will had never even _heard_ about someone doing something like this to a dead body. What about her had required such a delicate handling of her body? Unless her murderer had considered her saint-like as well. She had been handled and strung up with gentle, firm hands—a lover’s touch.

Suddenly noise exploded in the forest. Whistles bounced off of the trees and hooves thundered along the path so heavily that Will felt the ground shaking underneath him. He pulled himself to his feet just as the police stopped their horses in the clearing on the bank. They, too, stopped in horror.

“Christ Almighty,” one of the police officers gasped, getting down off their horse. They asked vague, cursory questions of Will and the other stablehands. Who had found her? Did they touch her? How long did they wait to get the police? Overall they seemed dismissive and confused.

The lead police officer was standing on his horse in the creek, sawing through the ropes that suspended the woman with a knife. “Someone should inform the master of the house,” he said, looking expectantly at the five stable hands that milled about on the shore.

No one moved. In fact, they didn’t even look at him at the suggestion. Five obedient, worried heads were pointed at the ground. As usual, it was Will who spoke first. “If we’re dismissed, I’ll go share the news,” he murmured. Charles looked up at him quickly, his brows knit with concern. At the officer’s nod of permission, Will took his friends and they trudged back down the path the way they had come.

“You’re going to go into the house?” Charles asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ll tell the butler, I won’t see Hannibal,” Will said. He paused, frowning as Charles raised his eyebrows at him. He hadn’t even noticed the deeply unprofessional manner in which he had named their employer. Most people didn’t even call him by surname, let alone _first._ “Sorry-- Dr. Lecter,” Will corrected. He felt his face heat up. Why had Hannibal singled out Will to be the recipient of a first-name basis?

Charles watched Will for a second longer, chuckling under his breath. “Be careful Will,” he said, frowning as he clapped a hand against Will’s back. “We don’t want you disappearing on us, or worse, ending up like that girl back there.” In unison, they turned their heads over their shoulders in the direction of the river. A chill ran down his back.

Back at the stables, Will left his friends there to pass around the news of the murder in hushed voices. There was work to be done, and a stable to be cleaned. Hannibal was hosting one of his famed dinner parties that night, murder or not. It was important that they had room to accommodate the guests’ carriages and horses. Coming around the shadow of the house, Will knocked three times against the worn blue door of the servant’s entrance.

The housekeeper that pulled it open was met with a grim face, sunken in and worried like a skull. “I need to see the master of the house,” Will pleaded. “There’s something important he needs to know.” The middle-aged woman beckoned him into the house, immediately handing him a cup of warm tea. Will didn’t want it, but he accepted it anyway. It felt good. Like it seeped humanity back into him.

“I’ll get the butler,” said the housekeeper, straight-faced and concerned. She vanished from sight for a few moments, before returning with the grisly and angry butler. He narrowed his eyes immediately upon seeing Will again so soon.

“What is it this time, Horse Master?” The butler seethed. It seemed that something about Will irritated him insufferably. 

“A crime has been committed on Hannibal’s land, the police have asked me to share the news.” Will watched the butler carefully, his face a perfect mask of indifference. The muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed and unflexed; the only outward sign of frustration. Even his words were carefully chosen and measured.

“Are you aware that the master has a party planned this evening? You cannot except to deliver him news of a crime on a day like this,” the butler snapped, but he looked worried. His eyes traveled from Will to the housekeeper and back, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Will noticed it. “Come with me, Horse Master,” the butler hissed. “Do not touch anything, and do not sit on anything.” 

Will obeyed. He set down his teacup and thanked the housekeeper with a silent bow of his head. The butler lead him out of the servants hall and up a narrow flight of stairs. Through another door, they emerged _inside_ Hannibal’s home. Will didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was somehow nothing compared to what he saw. Everything was immaculately and tastefully decorated. Hunting trophies from all over the world, expertly stuffed, lined the hallways. Suits of armor, collectibles, and artwork covered the walls where books did not.

The butler opened a door to a small parlor. It looked personal. It held a gentle quiet that the rest of the house did not, as though Will had been invited into some inner sanctum.

“Don’t touch, don’t sit,” the butler reminded him tensely, looking Will up and down with barely disguised disgust. He pulled the door closed behind him, and Will found himself alone in Hannibal’s house. He looked around but didn’t move from where he was standing, hands stuffed into his pockets.

It felt like eons before the door clicked open. Hannibal walked in with all the grace he had possessed in the field, and all the personality he carried with him the night before. He was jacketless, and his white shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. “Hello Will,” said Hannibal, bowing his head slightly.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will said, watching the butler as he pulled the door shut behind Hannibal. The sophisticated man seated himself comfortably on one of the sofas in the room, while Will remained standing.

“Please, sit,” Hannibal requested, gesturing at the furniture.

“I’ve been in the stables,” Will replied.

“I know. Please, sit.” 

There was something about the way he said it that Will found he could not decline again. He seated himself carefully on a sofa, perching on the edge. It felt _wrong_ to be sitting here as if they were old friends. He could not even comprehend them as equals to begin with, but Hannibal did. Will wrung his hands, twisting his fingers around each other. “There was a murder,” he said, watching Hannibal carefully. 

Will thought he could see a nearly invisible flash in Hannibal’s eyes. “Here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Near the river,” Will replied. “A girl. She was tied up over the water like she had been crucified. She had been ripped open along the back and sides.” His face was passive, unphased by the description. It was like he could see here there, hanging behind Hannibal in the room.

Hannibal made a low humming sound, like a purring cat. “How did it make you feel? To behold something like that with your own eyes?”

Will paused. He thought Hannibal would have asked him about the crimescene, if the police had taken the body away. If they had any suspects. Now he had to think about his answer. It was not the first corpse he had seen, nor even the bloodiest. “Sad, somewhat,” Will answered, chewing on his thoughts as he spoke. “But she wasn’t killed and left for dead like she was nothing. Her killer respected her like a prized hunting trophy. His white lion. I’ve seen worse.”

“You’re very observant, Will, perhaps you’ll leave me to become a detective,” Hannibal replied jokingly. It felt he had been stroked like a good dog. Will couldn’t convince himself that he hated it. He seemed to have piqued Hannibal’s interest, but he changed the subject quickly. “How is Rome?” 

“He’s in excellent health.” Will felt a wave of relief crash over him. Suddenly he felt like he could breath again, as if air had been returned to the room. Yes, it was easy to talk about the horses. It was less comfortable to talk about himself, and murder. “He’s learning quickly. He has a strong, smart brain.” Will smiled, proud of his work with the animal. He felt it was easier to work and communicate with animals than with people. Especially people like this, who seemed to have practiced the art of speaking.

“You two have a lot in common,” Hannibal remarked, watching Will intently. 

Will bowed his head in a silent gesture of thanks.

“As you know, Will, I’m holding a dinner party tonight,” Hannibal added after a pause. “That’s what I was doing before you brought me here, you know. I prepare all the food for these events on my own.” Will was impressed, and was immediately aware of how unusual such a thing was. Hannibal must have been a good cook. He was smiling at Will, a look of appreciation in his eyes.

“I’d like you to come, Will,” Hannibal added, clasping his hands together politely in his lap.

Will blinked, astonished. No-- why was he asking _him?_ What had Will ever done to impress Hannibal at such a level that he was being invited to personal dinner parties, and foxhunts, and to train his horses as a special request? Despite his initial declination, Will found that he couldn’t turn down the offer this time.

“I’d love to,” Will answered, meeting Hannibal's eyes. He was caught there, and for a long moment they just remained there, studying each other. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. Will immediately lowered his eyes. "I don't know if I have anything to wear," he added. 

"I'll have something sent down." Hannibal smiled, getting to his feet. Will stood to meet him. "If you don't mind, Will, I need to get back to my cooking. There's much to prepare."

Will nodded, and excused himself from the room. He didn't listen to the butler, who spat at him in bewilderment. Leaving the house, Will thanked the housekeeper and slipped back out to the stables once more. _I'd like you to come, Will._ It shocked him, but sent a thrill through him. _I'd love to_ , he'd answered. Will reminded himself to tread carefully. He'd come here to run away from a situation not unlike this. _There was something... unnatural about Hannibal_ , isn't that what Charles had said? Will hoped that perhaps Charles was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone! You're being so kind and encouraging. Here's a nice juicy chapter, with lots of Will and Hannibal.


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